I'm Sorry, Self

To me it may concern.

I’m sorry.

I tell my kids that you can’t say it until you mean it and that you shouldn’t if you don’t. I tell them to say sorry and specifically for what it was they said or did and what they’re going to do next time - when it happens again, because it will, because we’re learning.

So as not to be a hypocrite, it’s my turn.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry for criticizing how long it takes you to feel comfortable with people you know but haven’t seen in awhile and for calling you stupid for not knowing how to start conversations you’d rather not have in the first place.

I’m sorry for stifling your excitement about trying something new by forcing you to over-research to the point where you’re too scared to go alone and then allowing the other persons presence to take precedent over your own so that you didn’t ask questions and feel like you don’t know enough to return to the place.

I’m sorry for making you feel like you’re not allowed to ask questions and that you should always know all the answers to everything.

I’m sorry that I take away any feelings of success after you complete something you’ve really wanted to do by pointing out the things that could’ve been done better or more efficiently and how you should do it next time.

I’m sorry that I make you minimize your own feelings to the point where you don’t even know whether they are valid.

I’m sorry that I hold you back from doing the things you want to do to the point where sometimes other people have to take steps on your behalf or you end up watching others do the things you’ve wanted before you get a chance to.

I’m sorry that I allow you to physically suffer because I feel like you should be smart enough to solve your own problems.

I’m sorry that I cannot consistently provide you with positive feedback.

I’m sorry that you feel like you’re never allowed to show true excitement or celebrate yourself.

I’m sorry that I make you feel guilty for wanting more for your kids.

I’m sorry for constantly comparing you to other people and ensuring you know every way in which you’re falling short.

I’m sorry for calling you ugly and devaluing all of your individual parts.

I’m sorry for setting the expectations for you so unbelievably high that you’ll never possibly reach them.

I’m sorry for calling you garbage and telling you that you can’t do anything right.

I’m sorry that you’ve connected the idea of wanting to try something new with what you’re doing now being inherently wrong.

I’m sorry for never sharing the grace I willingly give to others with ease with you.

I’m sorry for saying that I hate you.

I’m sorry for mistaking your need for distraction as laziness.

I’m sorry for keeping promises to everyone but you.

I’m sorry for burying interests that didn’t immediately appeal to the people around you even though you clearly wanted to learn more.

I’m sorry for calling you defective and not allowing you to be a human or make mistakes.

I’m sorry for making you feel incapable of the things you want to accomplish.

I’m sorry for turning every event with family or friends into a massive attack on your person and how you choose to exist by comparing you against standards you aren’t even sure you want to uphold or care about.

I’m sorry for always hunting for boxes to put you into and that I’m always working to simplify or make you less.

I’m sorry for preventing you from being you.

I’m sorry.

Next time, I’ll sit with you in your discomfort and tell you that it’s okay to observe for awhile and that not everyone is comfortable in large groups of people.

Next time, I’ll help you with your research and kindly tell you when you’ve done enough. I’ll hold your hand and tell you it’s brave to do things alone.

Next time, I’ll remind you that it’s okay to have questions when you’re doing something new and that you should ask them - nobody is expecting you to know already.

Next time, I’ll take the time to congratulate you for finishing something you wanted to do and point out all of the things you did well along the way.

Next time. I’ll make space to hold your feelings, no matter how big and remind you that they’re all okay feelings to have and that you’re allowed to have them.

Next time, I’ll push you harder and hold you accountable to do the things you want to do and remind you that it’s okay to ask for help when it’s more difficult than you expected.

Next time, I’ll draw a line in the sand of what discomfort I’m okay with you feeling and remind you that you’re allowed to not have the answers, and it’s okay to get help from those that do.

Next time, I’ll prioritize highlighting the positive parts of your world so you can’t forget they are there.

Next time, I’ll urge you to share your excitement and remind you that you are deserving of being celebrated - that it’s okay to feel good about yourself and to share it with others.

Next time, I’ll tell you that it’s okay to want more for your kids and help you through feeling guilty for being able to.

Next time, I’ll ask you what you want for yourself and who you want to be without regard to anyone else. I’ll help you learn what is important to you and how to borrow the things you like from others and return those that aren’t for you.

Next time, I’ll tell you all the things your body has done for you and all the ways it has changed and continues to. I’ll compliment you for the things you do and not assign purpose outside of function.

Next time, I’ll set the bar at a realistic height and allow room for failure.

Next time, I’ll watch my words and I’ll talk about all of the things you have done well lately to counteract the feeling that you’re not enough.

Next time, I’ll let you try something new without justification- simply because you want to, not because there’s anything wrong with the way you’re doing it now.

Next time, I’ll offer the same courtesy and compassion to you that I would give my children. I’ll remind you that you’re deserving of patience and time and that nobody is upset or put out by your need to be comforted.

Next time, I will tell you all the ways I love you and that nothing you could ever do would change that.

Next time, I’ll give you a little time and then press you to sit with your reasoning for being so distracted. I’ll help you figure out what you’re avoiding and how you can face it.

Next time, I’ll remember to prioritize the things I tell you I will do, and value those promises above all else.

Next time, I’ll let you like what you like regardless of those around you. I’ll encourage you to dive deeper into the things you enjoy.

Next time, I’ll remind you that you’re not a robot, that you’re human and mistakes are the best way to learn - that it’s okay to make them and that it’s okay to feel shitty that you did.

Next time, I’ll rattle off all of the skills and difficulties that you have overcome that make you uniquely capable of accomplishing what you want. I’ll encourage you to be brave when you find fear and to ask for help when you find yourself lacking what you need.

Next time, I’ll help you identify what events matter and how they look for you and your family. I’ll bolster those values, help allow room for new traditions, and create quick exits for the things that don’t work.

Next time, I’ll explain that you can’t fit into a boxes unless you cut yourself down and encourage you to combine all of your parts and make yourself more.

Next time, I’ll let you be you - without qualifiers.